


Sober

by victorianvirgil



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety x Creativity, I'm really sorry, Love them, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Roman x Virgil - Freeform, Sanders Sides - Freeform, Virgil x Roman - Freeform, because this is still up so it's technically still two fics a week, bit of a miscommunication but it's okay, creativity x anxiety - Freeform, drunk!virgil, engaged!logan and patton, logicality - Freeform, roman is in it too but like wait for it, shit's cute, sorry this is so late, we had a scheduling problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 15:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianvirgil/pseuds/victorianvirgil
Summary: A storm reigned inside of Virgil tamed only by a continuous flow of alcohol entering his stream at the party Logan and Patton were hosting. His mind was a dark place after his light was stripped away and he gets into his car to drive, a small voice in his head hoping that he won’t make it home. But the fates have other plans when Virgil is stopped and must face the cause of his tears.





	Sober

Virgil’s fingers rested on the door handle of his Subaru. His actions weren’t sync with his thoughts, a second delay between when he wanted to do them and when he was actually capable of doing so.

He slid into the smooth, leather seat of beige that practically screamed at him in the darkness, making his ears bleed. Not the make he preferred, no. He had wanted black seats but no. No.

He sighed, lifting a trembling hand and steadying it on steering wheel. He could see the clock before him, the hour hand ticking ticking ticking as he steadied his other hand. One on ten and the other on two, ten and two.

Ten and two.

He shuttered, gripping his chest and resting his forehead against the face of the clock, horn beeping. Breathing was difficult, barely manageable. But he was a survivor, it had just been a rough few days; he’d be okay again, just a few more days.

When he looked up, his eyes were dark and the twin windows to his soul were protected by hazel shutters. And the glass was twice as thick now, built to withstand any sort of weather. Any sort of storm of a man. The windshield only a foot away, however, was not nearly as sturdy and was begging to crack beneath the surging storm.

The wind howled from just beyond his grasp, the perpetual droplets of rain darkening the already ebony streets and flooding the world into a realm beyond darkness, driving the world into chaos.

It took almost five seconds to turn his key, drifting onto autopilot as he backed out of the driveway (with the care one would give to cradling the head of a newborn) and started to drive down the road. The streets were calm on a Sunday night, silent and beautiful. Deadly as a knife. Virgil released a laugh, too scared to take a hand off the wheel to turn on the radio. The melody of the natural world would do.

It was a symphony composed of clouds’ tears accompanied by the thrum of the churning tires, the steady hum of the engine, and Virgil’s very own unreliable breaths. He had never heard anything like it before but it would do. It wasn’t Beyoncé but it would do.

Anything to escape the abiding quiet of his mind.

There was a song on the tip of his tongue, one out of time with the rest of his immediate universe. An angel descending from heaven to whisper sweet nothings into his ear. But Virgil couldn’t listen, shoving the words down and down and choking on them with a hiccuped sob. An unfamiliar taste on his tongue. His words. His beer. But not Virgil’s, no. Logan’s beer and not Logan’s words, but the words of-

He turned on the radio, desperate to smother all thoughts of him. And there was Taylor Swift, singing about a prince sweeping her off of her feet and carrying her on the back of a white horse into the sunset. Virgil would have laughed if the thought didn’t make the void in his chest swell. He would have laughed and laughed. But at least he wasn’t alone, he had Taylor Swift for company now. And the prince treating her the way she deserved to be treated.

He turned his windshield wipers on after a few blocks, his headlights a few more after that. But he winced, turning the lights off after a moment because they hurt his eyes. They were too bright, far too bright. Like the stars were tempting him from inches away, blinding and beautiful but too much to handle.  _ Just like him _ , Virgil thought.

Virgil’s head was throbbing when he ran the red light, eyelids fluttering shut as he turned his directional on and switched lanes. He stayed between the lines and allowed them to guide him. and his steed, onto the highway.

He was alone then, with only the white checkered lines for company. He was smothered by the rain, keeping his car steady and in the middle lane. One hand remained on the dead space of his chest as if to make sure his heart continued to beat, that his lungs wouldn’t drown in whiskey. Or beer. Or wine. Or one of the various other types of alcohol he had consumed that night.

The world grew darker with every passing second. His phone rang.

His hand slipped from his chest, reaching across the center console in favor of answering his phone. He turned it on speaker, leaving it in one of the cup holders and waiting for it to connect. He didn’t have to check the caller ID to know exactly who it was.

“Virgil,” the cool and collected voice he knew too well said. Virgil couldn’t decipher the hint of fear in his tone, not like he normally would have been able to at least.

“Salutations, Lo,” he replied in monotone, glancing into his rearview mirror as he continued to drive.

“Now you know how Patton trusts you.” He did, his childhood friend had always given him chances that others never dared to.

“So how am I supposed to tell him that you, intoxicated to point in which you lack the ability to stand, slipped out through the bathroom window and left our engagement party?”

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head and forbidding Logan’s words from seeping deep inside of him. Like poison. Because no, he had made the right call in leaving. With everyone there, giving him side glances as he stood alone in a corner with a bottle of whatever he was drinking at the time for a date, it was too much to handle. He had made the right call.

“Virge-”

“I couldn’t fucking do it, okay? I-fuck, Logan, I can’t talk about this with you! You won’t understand.”

“There’s little I-”

But Virgil stopped listening, set and stubborn as an ox as Logan ranted on about relationships and how Virgil was “just being idiotic. He’s just a boy.”

“But he’s got me good.” Logan took a breath as if to add to his comment but Virgil cut him off with a simple, “And I love him.”

It wasn’t healthy, he told him before and told him again. Virgil knew that. But wasn’t a boy allowed to take time to mend his shattered heart? Wasn’t he allowed to detest attending parties of his loving, soon to be married friends?

No, he needed to get the fuck over himself. But could Virgil get over him?

“No,” he mumbled, picking up the phone with a shaking hand and ending the call without another word. Of course not. He would be there forever, or the piece of Virgil he took would remain vacant until his death.

He turned his phone off, knowing that Logan would tell Patton, and Patton...god, that little ball of fire would never let him hear the end of it. He just needed to get home, to sleep this all off: his former lover, the alcohol in his system, and the resentment. He could wake up in the morning a new man.

Change his goddamn name while he was at it.

He was snapped out of his trance by a howl from neither the wind or a wolf. A wail from a siren, blue and red flashing lights confirming his suspicions.

Virgil must have not seen the officer in the rain, the car a spider tucked into an alcove and waiting to ensnare its next victim. Virgil pulled over, knowing that struggling in the web would only make matters much, much worse.

He rolled down his window while bowing his head, drumming the fingers of one hand against the steering wheel as the other balled into a tight fist. His nails, jagged and uneven from lack of care, dug into his smooth palms in crescent indents, drawing a hint of blood; but, Virgil could hardly feel it from the blood pounding in his ears.

The officer got out of the car, Virgil able to see as much in his mirror, but he stayed staring straight ahead as a finger tapped the glass. Unprofessional, his window was already down.

Quietly, he said, “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

“The problem is that you’re trying to get yourself killed. Isn’t your survival instinct supposed to kick in or something?”

And it did, Virgil tensing upon hearing his haunting voice. He felt his soul leave his body in a short breath, stretching as far away from Roman as possible while still remaining close enough for Virgil to think. Think think think.

“I came from a party,” he dismissively said, voice showing no desire to say anything else. But Roman had the upper hand here: he was an enforcer of the law and Virgil was well-

“Well I know that,” he snapped. Of course he knew, he must have been invited.

“Picked up a detail,” he mumbled, not that it was any of Virgil’s business. It was to give Virgil space, no doubt, so he wouldn’t go to the party, get absurdly drunk, and kill himself in the process of attempting to get home. He was batting two for three and Roman had denied the invitation. He didn’t want to think about what a perfect game he would have had if Roman had been there.

But after that comment, silence; not what Virgil expected. He thought he’d be treated coldly, Roman planning on taking him in the moment he saw his car. Maybe give him a quick grope of a search before claiming he had cases upon cases of heroin in the trunk that he was potentially going to sell, and ship him off for a few life sentences. But he hadn’t even asked for his license and registration (which Roman  _ knew  _ Virgil never had in his car).

“Look,” he sighed, the rain trickling down his smooth features that Virgil refused to look at (but he had a very vivid imagination and didn’t need to see it with his eyes to truly see it), “Virgil I can just call- are you fucking kidding me?”

Virgil turned to look at him, a red ring of fire encompassing his hazel eyes that swelled with tears. His bottom lip was quivering involuntarily, hands shaking as Roman said more to himself than anything, “God, you’re not even fucking sober.”

Virgil was about to turn his head when Roman reached out, grabbing his chin and holding him firmly in place. It probably only took minimal effort, even with Virgil struggling. Roman looked into his eyes, lips pursing as he dropped his chin and ran his fingers through his own hair.

“Christ, Virge. Holy fucking shit.”

“The hell did you expect?” he replied, voice brittle as sad, sad laughter erupting from his lips as he shook his head. “Roman I-”

“No, there’s no excuse for this! You deserve so much more and you’re better than this. You’re better than the tired, drunk man I’m looking at right now. That’s not the man . . .  _ you’re _ not the man I fell in love with all those years ago.”

Virgil started tuning Roman out after that because it was the same thing over and over again. And Roman knew it, eventually just pulling out his phone to call someone (probably Logan). But Virgil grabbed his wrist, finally initiating eye contact.

“I can’t . . . I can’t deal with them right now,” he said quietly, knowing that his lover would sympathize. Patton could be too overbearing and Logan, well, he didn’t want to deal with Logan either.

Roman sighed, taking a step back and pulling Virgil’s door open. A car rushed by in the passing lane, Virgil stiffening but Roman placed a hand on the small of his back as the other stepped out. He shut the door behind him, guiding him to the passenger’s side of the car. Virgil complied, confused but he was too tired to question Roman. Not even when the other slipped into the driver’s side and slid the key into the ignition.

“What about your car?” he mumbled, sinking into the seat and turning so his back was instead against the car door.

“Men owe me favors, know not to say shit,” he replied with a shrug, getting the engine started and turning the headlights on. He then fiddled with the radio until he found a station he knew Virgil liked. He hummed along to the song, giving Virgil a final look before pulling back onto the highway. Abandoning his post.

It wasn’t exactly riding off into the sunset on the back of an ivory horse with a prince’s arms wrapped around his waist, but by the way Virgil found himself smiling quietly to himself, it was so much more.

-

The sun was much less intoxicated than Virgil was that morning. Flecks of light trickled in through the curtains, by slipping between the gaps in the tightly-stitched seams, and brushed against Virgil’s exposed skin.

The bed felt heavenly, better than ever before. The sheets were soft and warm, a soft embrace from a lover. A thin layer of perspiration clung to his skin - from the heat of his bed, no doubt - and he nuzzled his cheek into his pillow to dry himself off. It wasn’t until the pillow responded did he open his eyes completely.

Practically beneath him, in which shouldn’t have been much a surprise but still was, was Roman. Their legs were entangled, breaths rising and falling in time, and Roman had an arm tightly wrapped around Virgil’s waist. Protective, as if to save him from any tempest who dare assault him in the night. But they had stayed clear, his nightmares vanquished and the feeling of content coursing through his veins. It took a few minutes to unravel his body from Roman’s - starting by lifting his cheek off of his smooth, bare chest - but when he was sitting up, he found himself clutching his head in agony. Roman had not spared him a splitting hangover but that was hardly his fault. It was Virgil’s for getting so unbelievably drunk.

“Morning,” Roman muttered, sounding far more awake than he normally did during the few hours after the sun had rose.

“How long have you been up for?” Virgil croaked, voice hoarse and sounding as if Satan had fucked his mouth.

Roman shrugged indifferently, “Not long, just didn’t want to wake you.”

It could have been hours but Virgil just nodded, staring down into his lap. He was in a pair of Roman’s sweatpants, a loose tank-top hanging off of his much smaller frame.

“Look about . . .” But what even was there to say? “I’m sorry.”

Roman stared at him, Virgil able to feel his gaze but he didn’t dare meet it nor did he say anything to alleviate the silence. Neither of them said anything for a minute.

“It’s not a problem.” Of course not. “I just worry.” Of course he does.

“I’m fine,” Virgil replied, turning to throw his legs over the side of the bed but Roman caught his shoulder. His grip was firm and Virgil shuttered, sending him into a reverie of Roman pinning him to the bed with those very same hands and-

“You were driving drunk last night. That says otherwise.”

“Really, I’m fine.” More stubbornly this time. “My head hurts a bit but my heart is okay.”

“Because you were-”

“So what?” Virgil asked, his vociferate voice revealing the anger pouring out of him in buckets. A tempest of his own, one that Roman should have avoided. Thrown into a cell or at least left in the hands of fate and mother nature. “Men get drunk when…”

Roman dropped his hand, standing up and walking to the foot of the bed. “I’ll bring you a bottle of water and some painkillers. Just try to sleep it off, okay? We can . . . we can talk later.”

Virgil allowed himself to fall back onto the mattress, fingers finding his rapid pulse as he rolled onto his side and hid from Roman. They weren’t broken up, not officially. Roman just wanted a little break, stressed with auditions for his show. And Virgil had wanted to be supportive, doing his best to be a loving boyfriend but-

“Hey, Virge,” Roman spoke softly, placing the glass of water - not a bottle, Logan forbade them in order to save the environment - by the bedside table next to the pills. He ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, sighing as he looked down at him. “I’m not mad, you know.”

_ I need a break. _

“I find that hard to believe.” His voice was hoarse, still. But not from sleep or lack of use. But from hurt, from agony. Fear of losing the one good thing in his life.

“V I . . . you know how I get when I’m stressed,” he defensively muttered, trying to explain himself. But Virgil wouldn’t let himself off the hook, no. Roman deserved better. Hell, Roman was talking now and Virgil was too trapped in his own world to listen. “-so I understand if you want to break up with me.”

_ What. _

“What?” he asked, rolling onto his back and allowing for Roman’s hand to grace the side of his face to cup his cheek.

“I haven’t been a good boyfriend: I’ve been putting you second to myself because of auditions, I’ve snapped at you, I started a fight that ended with you driving under the influence, and- oh. And now I’ve made you cry.”

Virgil shook his head, letting Roman wipe his cheeks as he struggled to sit up. Once he felt comfortable, he threw his arms around Roman and hugged him with every ounce of strength he could muster. To give him all the love he had.

Roman stiffened at first but quickly accepted the embrace, greedily pulling Virgil closer and burying his face into the crook of his neck. He laughed, sounding a bit choked up and  _ no, baby, don’t cry. _

“Hey,” Virgil purred, pulling Roman onto the bed to sit next to him, still embracing him. “We’re okay.”

“Even if Logan wants me dead and to place my head on a shelf as a trophy?”

Virgil nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek softly. “Yeah, we’re okay because I say we are.”

“And what you say goes, my king.”

Virgil grinned at that, thanking whatever god or gods that reigned above before diving in for the most perfect kiss in the universe. And the universe answered him when Roman kissed him back.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys!
> 
> so mac and I had a bit of a scheduling issue and that's why this is being posted today rather than monday. we had a bit of a miscommunication so this (unfortunately) is obviously not a halloween fic (I know, we're sorry). I wrote this a while ago and planned to post it sometime in November but we needed to post a fic so here it is!
> 
> posting regularly can be a bit difficult but thank you for sticking with us! we're honestly both so incredible busy so it's a miracle that we can do this at all, but I love posting and interacting with you guys so I wouldn't trade this for anything.
> 
> thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed,  
> \- ronnie


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